The Dragon's Curse

[Jehuti]

OoC/Info Dump/Character Index

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Prologue: Princess Amelia​

The Catalysts. Their name and influence equally spread throughout the known world, they are the most famous mercenary organization to date. Based in the island nation of Kame-Iwa, they are a mixed force of fierce warriors, clever tacticians, and sly infiltrators, gathered together from locales across the map. Whether their mission requires a show of force, or a more delicate objective, their sole agenda remains the same: they protect the peace, above all else. Though their funds, as well as their orders, come from one place, Kame-Iwa and its Empress Azuna the Wise are seen as a nation and leader both in service to peace. As such, they are frequently allowed to operate within other nations' borders, and perceived as separate from the nation's military.

The Empress's people, the Kanegura Clan, are publicly perceived as a simple, peace-loving tribal folk who enjoy the isolation of their island nation of Kame-Iwa. Surrounded in natural defenses of all kinds, it might just be the safest nation on earth. However, the rugged terrain is lacking in natural resources, which must be acquired from other nations. The Kanegura Clan protect the Inner Sea; her navy constantly patrols its trade routes, ridding them of pirates and sea monsters. In exchange for her protection, a portion of goods traded within these routes are offered to the Kanegura as tribute. Because most nations border the Inner Sea rather than their neighbors, trading with said neighbors without the Inner Sea's trade routes is extremely difficult and time-consuming. Therefore, maintaining a positive relationship with the Kanegura Clan is instrumental in maximizing profits, and the prosperity of all nations. To declare war on your neighbor is to declare war against the Kanegura Clan herself, and lose those lucrative trade routes—it is upon this principle that peace has been maintained for nearly a hundred years.

The Catalysts are newer than the peace they preserve. Barely ten years old, they were established by their nation's current Empress. Previously led by the Empress's vassal, Suzume, their current commander of the past six years, Commander Kanon the Resolved, formerly of the Touryou Tribe, is both feared and beloved by her company, for her strict training regimen and dedication to her subordinates' well-being, respectively. Though younger than some of the Catalysts' recruits, her talents in swordsmanship and leadership are both undeniable, and very few of the company's members could see anyone gracefully taking her place.

However, that is why a new platoon of Catalysts has been formed. Recently-crowned Princess Amelia is to assume the position of Supreme Commander of the Catalysts, outranking their esteemed Kanon. Though it was the will of the Empress, the new platoon, who have been hand-picked from platoons stationed across the map, are complete strangers to most of their new comrades, and most are unfamiliar with the Princess. Uncertainty and annoyance at their new station and sudden reassignment runs high throughout camp. This prevailing anxiety follows the Catalysts into their dreams tonight—the night before they are to meet their new Supreme Commander, Crown Princess Amelia. Anxiety leads to impatience, as the dawn approaches.

Kame-Iwa: East of Capital City Tokoyo
​

Dawn approached, and with it came the sweltering heat. Directly west of the former nesting grounds of the Dragons, Kame-Iwa's famous capital, the "Nightless City Tokoyo" was just as hot and nearly as humid, short of showing visible moisture in the air. Cicadas began their high-pitched cacophony as the sun began to peek over the mountains, as if to compete with the low, bustling roar of the Capital not too far away. If none of this were enough to wake most of the Catalysts from their slumber, Kanon's whistle came piercing from outside.

"Rise from your graves and look alive! I want everyone formed up outside in fifteen minutes!"

Another whistle and distant shouting, as their Commander delivered an identical message to the men's tent.

Today was the day they were to meet their new Princess in person. The Empress, and the Touryou Chief were rumored to be present at the gathering as well. This was a day to dress in something sharp or dainty, to appease the delicate eyes of the nobility, not to sweat and bleed and be caked in dirt. Yet even so, Kanon made no exceptions, it seemed. They were to rise bright and early, and cram their daily training and a bath into their schedules before departing for social pleasantries with a Princess they'd presumably meet only once, then never again, as she played armchair general with the lives of those beneath her. Today would be a long day.

BGM ~ Preparing for Battle​

Outside the tent, the cicadas grow louder, and flocks of pegasus riders can be seen overhead, carrying their passengers to and fro. Fishermen are ferried off to work on the other side of the mountains, while tourists and residents alike fly in and out of the field. Their pegasus knight escorts give Kanon a salute as they fly in to relieve the night shift, while the tourists gawk at her and her platoon's encampment. The location of their camp, too, had been the will of the Empress—something about a public spectacle of military vigilance to give the visiting nobles some peace of mind. Kanon and her platoon would just have to play along with her games.

As the Catalysts ready themselves and form up, Kanon concludes her morning greetings and turns back to face the Catalysts, deferring her attention to a rather intimidating stack of papers she held cradled in her arm.

"I hope you slept well—I know you're as thrilled as I am about the festivities ahead." Kanon speaks with the humorless, sympathetic smile of a woman whose patience has been tested along with theirs. "However, we mustn't lose ourselves in tonight's excitement. This may be a private event, but nobles and their vassals will be coming from all over. I expect you to be vigilant and respond to any suspicious activity. Therefore, in the event of an emergency, each and every one of you should at least be acquainted with each other's skills and limitations. To that end, please pair up for a quick sparring session. That will be all we have time for today."

That wasn't entirely true. Time was something they had—energy, not so much. If this was the Commander's way of showing mercy, though, nobody was likely to complain.

 

[Rosé Moon]

The sky was painted violet, and the moon, hollow. Like someone had taken a cookie cutter and clipped it out of the sky. It felt as though she'd been lying on her back, for she could see nothing but the sky - no buildings invading, nor clouds or any obstruction in general. Small splotches began to appear. The stains of black looked like ink running through a paper towel before taking a more solid form above. Suddenly birds soared through the sky.

First one. Then two. Before long, the purple atmosphere was eclipsed. Until everything was dark.

Eerina's theme

Her eyes opened slowly. Calmly. Controlled. The waking world was dark, and despite the thick, warm bag that consumed her lithe body and despite the climate here -warm nights and sweltering days- the woman always felt a subconscious chill in her morning hours that she was, frankly, not prepared to face. So she cocooned, she remained, the barrier of warm nylon protecting her from the cold that threatened, providing a pressure and warmth that needed no more a fancy description then 'comforting'. The comfort was only the greater thanks to the sounds around her, Silence. The nature outside. The lack of activity in the dark that consumed the nature. It hadn't taken her all too long to learn to block out the lights and hustle of the nightless city. This peace leveled her mind, after her strange dream, and let her think. Though, there was a bit peeve-ment at the lack of light. It was not everyday that she was blessed with such an early awakening. It was this time that could be utilized to continue her current novel - 'The rose in a thunderstorm.'. It was the latest in her guilty pleasure; a series of romance novels that went by the name 'A heart by any another name'.

Obviously, as soon as the smallest, slightest shade of blue illuminated the early, morning sky, this all changed. She shot up, exposing herself to the elements she'd just described in her mind as 'hell' a 'fate worse than death' and found the leather backed book in the near darkness. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark as she'd awaited, so the dismal amount of light that now could pierce her tent was ample to make out the small letters.

Perhaps it was the chill of her fictitious morning air, or the excitement found in her favorite pass time (or maybe this particular chapter was just more steamy) but skin on her arms began to break out into goose pimples, but the woman gave no heed. In fact, nothing seemed to reach her. The sounds outside, the Pegasus riders above, the waking of others outside her tent. Society had began its day, and now she could see clearly in the light of the morning. This meant her time was up. Personal luxuries were done with. The silvery-blue of the woman's eyes slide across the final sentence on a page, she bent the corner of the page, and she closed it with a satisfied sigh before beginning to move.

Very little did this woman need to consider herself presentable, although, there was a threshold she needed to meet. She was a woman, after all. With a flick of her head, she swung her dark, raven-coloured hair to one side before grasping it near the end with one hand and running a brush through it with the other, from top to bottom. When it was all said in done, her hair hung behind her, tied into a ponytail just above her shoulder to keep it from flowing in front of her. Now it was merely a matter of dressing herself, a simple task.

By the time the commander could whistle, Eerina was out of her tent, stoic, and in-attention before the rest of Kanon's announcement could even begin. Doubtless was she the first to respond -- nothing less would be expected of Eerina. That is, if one could manage to remember to expect anything from her.

Eerinna never looked casual. She either skirted the line of military-professional and pristine or near-manish. Never just an average woman. For occasions such as these, she seldom wore anything besides her casual attire. A black, form fitting top, v-cut at the neck, down to her center-chest (the bare section being covered by a fishnet mesh. Beneath this mesh, it was visible that the rest of her chest was wrapped in bandages. Perhaps she simply enjoyed bandage wraps for the same could be seen on her wrists, up to her elbows, and from the ankle half way up the calf. The leg wraps weren't as visible, however, as he legs were adorned in dark leggings, that only hugged her form form the hips to the knee before fluttering out loosely. The color-matching clothing nearly made her appear to be wearing a strangely tight, yet loose, jump suit.

It wasn't until their orders were given that the woman even paid any heed to those around her, for Commander Kanon had given her orders that wouldn't be simple for her. To pair up. Thanks to her gift, she'd kept her distance to her comrades and been an aquaintance to some, at best, and a stranger to most at worst. A smidge befuddled by these orders, the woman stood, a bit too straight, continuing looking forward. Was it so wrong to wait until she was paired with whoever remained? The woman who was known as 'Raven', sure didn't think so.​

 

[Arachnos]

Even if Eerina's Gift had not involved being forgettable, it is quite likely she would have been forgotten anyways at the sight of the man arriving on the scene next.

Atara - Shadowdance

Is he even a man, or something else entirely? It's certainly hard to say, what with the spiky ritualistic mask covering his face, and the disturbing glow of fell magic emanating from his eyes. He wears a tattered grey ritual robe, several metal rings around his neck, and bone gauntlets, gripping a simple jet-black staff in his right hand. He walks bare-footed, revealing dark skin, long scorched by an unforgiving desert sun, while softly chanting something in an unknown tongue.

He is a Southerner. The Southerner, one of the very rare denizens of the desert to have joined civilization. Even though the new platoon members had not met each other in person, they may have heard about this man. Some say he is the dragons' offspring, that he "speaks" with the wyvern he rides easier than he communicates with fellow men. It's whispered that he is unkillable, that any wounds he receives on the battlefield close themselves as he smites his foes. It's rumored that when the shadow of his mount falls upon his foes, they are instantly paralyzed with fear, unable to take cover from certain doom.

He does not exactly look the part of someone going to pay a visit to royalty. But Atara has long ago given up on trying to conform to social norms in this regard - regardless of what he did, he would always be an outsider. So instead of bending himself over to fit in the world, he chose to bend the world to fit around him, embracing and feeding into his own aura of mystery. And if it was his fate to be forever feared, then so be it. Fear is still better than hate, and fear has its purposes. Especially in his rightful place - the battlefield.

Unlike his new "comrades", he is not seeing the Princess for the first time. And yet, she is no less a mystery to him than to anyone else present - perhaps more. Without her, he would most likely have been thrown out of the Catalysts, like he had been rejected everywhere else, and he is grateful to her for that - and yet, he has no idea what is it that caused her to speak on his behalf. In his mind's eye, Atara recalls the arduous flight to the Summit of Summits, the cold, the fatigue, the intervention of the Princess and her honor guard. She had seemed fearful of him, back then, just like everyone else. What made her change her mind? Perhaps today may be the day he finds out.

-

In the commotion presumably caused by Atara's arrival, another figure, concealing her face beyond the hood of her dragonhide robe, arrives on the scene. She is glad not to be the center of attention for once. Still, sooner rather than later, she knows, will come the questions, and the finger-pointing, and the contempt, and the pity. There's nothing she hates quite as much as the pity.

Ragya - Dripping Vileness

Like Atara, she is not exactly dressed to impress, though for different reasons entirely. Better this than having her clothes fall apart during the reception. Still, to her own surprise, she took the time to groom her hair, even stuck a soon-to-be-ruined rose into it. In hindsight, she's not really sure why she even bothered. A holdover of the past, of a life long dead. A rose does little to beautify an abomination.

Besides, why should she be bothered anyways? Why exactly should she desperately try to pretty herself up for the sake of some spoiled rich girl who probably got her prestigious position through nepotism? A dainty flower who would stare at her as one would at an exhibit in a freakshow, maybe gasp and ooh and aah at her deformity, maybe present some hypocritical compassion. Or maybe even, if she is bratty enough, make a fuss about her dripping her vileness all over her impeccably shining floors. The Princess and the Untouchable.

Just imagining the scene makes Ragya's stomach turn. She spits on the ground, a thick, noxious green ooze that sizzles, burning a hole in any grass that may have been there before scorching the earth itself, leaving a small rotten black stain where nothing will ever grow again. She can handle the finger-pointing in a military setting. She has heard all the terrible jokes already, and sooner or later, her skill often prevails over her appearance, at least in the right people's minds. But to the people in charge, the people with money and power, she would always be a sideshow attraction, a gimmick, a stain, a poor unfortunate soul at best. Never an equal. Barely even a human being.

She pays a sideways glance to Eerina, prim, proper and professional. She's vaguely heard about her - a master of her art, an ace spy, respected by her peers. A pang of jealousy would have surged through her heart, had she not lost that train of thought within a matter of seconds.

She takes another look at the enigmatic southern shaman and, against her own will, feels a chill run down her spine. She wonders what could have pushed the man to leave his country, and can't help but ponder whether his presence in the Catalysts is part of some elaborate endgame. At the same time, she wonders whether he too ever feels like an outcast. If he does, she inwardly snarks, he's certainly doing a very poor job of making life easier on himself.

Ugh. Just as the mockery at her expense had started to recede in her previous unit, she just had to be reassigned to this new one, and meet some goddamn Princess on top of that... this was going to be a rotten day.

 

[Majem]

"Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, seventy, seventy-one, seven.. eight.. y-.. three? Two, three. Again, around eighty I lose count. That's the eleventh t... twelve.. eleven.. At least tenth time! How long have I been trying to sleep now? At least ten times around eighty seconds is.. Ten times eighty.. tiiime, no, divided by.. siiiixty? Ten eighty divided by sixty.. Eighty.. Eight hundred? Divided by sixty? Equals. Six.. Ten."

Lance shot up as the commander's whistle pierced his ears. Caught off guard by the sudden arrival of dawn, he hadn't realised he fell asleep sometime during his mental gymnastics. It felt like he had just gotten into bed, too anxious to sleep and starting to count, but already it was time to wake up again. Still drowsy, he simply stood there in his tent, still mulling over how long 'at least ten times around eighty' seconds was in minutes, until the commander repeated her order, which snapped him awake. Fifteen minutes was all he needed to get ready.

Sabatons, greaves, poleyns, tassets, breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets and lastly but most importantly, his helmet. It wasn't a full suit of armour, that would require more time, more hands and would be a lot heavier. Instead, any parts not safe underneath a metal plate had leather to protect them, leaving no naked skin exposed to direct attacks or prying eyes. Nothing could be seen of the man underneath his armor except for his chin and mouth, visible through an opening in his helmet so that his voice wouldn't be muffled.

Thirteen minutes and twenty seconds later he was out, marching towards the formation of the newest Catalyst platoon. Lance stationed himself next to the others, standing tall with sword and scabbard at his hips, shield in his left and lance in his right hand. The knight was ready for orders and ready to fight.
Only after Commander Kanon's short briefing concluded did Lance seem to relax. A sparring session would definitely take his mind off the oncoming event which he did not wish to be a part of. Revealing himself to his brothers-in-arms was one thing, but showing his face to nobility could lead to a whole lot more trouble and was something he didn't think he'd ever feel comfortable doing.

Worries for later, he figured. Now was the time to spar. Lance gave each member of his new unit a few glances, judging them for a pair up, before focusing his attention on Eunike. "Good morning, Eunike." He said with a smile and a wave.

 

[Villamvihar]

The hunger pangs always woke her up in the morning. No matter how much she ate the night before, she could never fill herself so that she would stay asleep for much longer than the sun had risen in the sky. But Eunike had gotten used to it over the years. In a way, it was convienient as it meant she had little need for an alarm clock and ever since she had been removed from the hands of the Gebleicht, she had not needed to worry about feeding herself. Because unlike back then, when her blue eyes opened up to see the world around her, she always found the food that she prepared the day before. It never went missing, nor were some of its contents mysteriously gone by the time morning came.

Today's breakfast was some beef surrounded by a pack of carefully-preserved ice with still-intact potatoes by its side, a few carefully-selected spices and plenty of vegetables. All deliberately chosen based on a combination of medical advice, sheer trial and error with some folk tradition sprinkled in. The woman may not have understood the science behind it, but she did understand the need to take care of her body. Her build, as impressive as it was, carried with it certain needs that needed seeing to, or else her performance would suffer. Sheer quantity of food was not enough to bring it back to par; merely to keep it operational. She had learned this the hard way under the Gebleicht and during her months of self-sufficience.

Pushing these idle thoughts out of her mind, Eunike started her morning routine. By her estimation, she had more than enough time to prepare, so she tied her long, white hair into a simple ponytail, put on her cooking clothes, then she dove into the thick of it. Practiced hands made short work of peeling the potatoes, preparing the vegetables and operating the stove she was permitted to keep. If anyone had stepped into the tent, they would have been greeted by the frankly absurd image of a seven-foot-tall amazon humming a marching song as she prepared food with surprising dexterity.

Then they would have turned away at the horrifying sight that followed.

Three plates' worth of food went down the drain in an instant. More than enough to feed a man for a day. And yet Eunike almost annihilated it with her ravenous hunger. She might have eaten properly, even going as far as to correct her posture at times, but the feast lasted a couple of minutes at most. The hard work of an early morning gone in the most minute of iotas in an effort to sate the beast in the woman's stomach. It was not even all that she could have eaten in one sitting, but she had to spread out her meals through the day if she did not want to end up with indigestion or heartburn that would disable her for the rest of the day.

Because, as commander Kanon's whistle reminded her, today was an important occassion. So with a heavy breath, Eunike made herself presentable for the combat drills. She knew the schedule as she had been reminded several times, but still, she had no idea how the hell she was going to fit in a bath with today's activities. Or how she was going to make her armour look presentable after it had taken the better part of a beating, especially with such little time on her hands. Whatever, that was not for her to worry about. For now...

The familiar embrace of her Hungry Maws closed around Eunike's fists and she stepped out of her tent. Literally dwarfing almost everyone in the camp, it was not difficult to spot the soldier. Therefore, she was not surprised as she was greeted by a voice she had grown to know well, along with its characterstic echo of steel.

"Best of mornings to you, too, Lance," replied Eunike as her eyes met the man's... or at least they tried to. It was difficult to do that while one's conversational partner was wearing a helmet. "May I ask if you have slept well today?" A polite, genuine question phrased with some eloquence and a voice that was surprisingly pleasant to listen to, especially for someone of Eunike's build. Internally, she wondered if he was going to ask to pair up with her today, but that was probably not the case. They had gotten to know each other's fighting style quite well in the Gebleicht days and even if they did not, Eunike was not sure he wanted to team up with him. Mostly because the new arrivals looked all too interesting to ignore.

 

[Lethe]

It was strange how different things were in the moments between the hours. When the sun was not quite up but the moon was not quite down. When the light was not quite dark nor the dark quite so light. When the world was bathed in a paint of pale silvery blue, and the world seemed impossibly quiet for at least that single time. Cyrille treasured these deep respites. As brief as they were, they were an oasis in the turbulence of her mind when, for once, she could pretend that everything was normal again.

Cyrille rolled onto her side, dark eyes boring into the plain wall. If she concentrated hard enough, she could see them--faint shapes blotted onto nothingness, twisting and winding like the fanatical stories her brother would weave. A meaningless task that kept a part of her busy on the nights she spent sleepless. Lately, however, those types of nights seemed more and more common. It wasn't so much insomnia--though that was a sometimes visiting friend best left introduced for another day--but a feeling. A feeling that something would happen if she dared to close her eyes for even a minute. What that something was, Cyrille knew not what exactly. But it sat there, a hefty weight in her stomach that seemed to wax and wane as often as the moon.

The gray peace was beginning to crack with gold by the time the first whistle pierced the air. Cyrille remained where she lay on the moment, ears perked as she counted the seconds. Then, a command and another whistle. Enough to confirm that it was real. The young woman rose out of bed, shaking away fatigue from her bones. Fifteen minutes was more than enough to get ready. It was more time than she allowed herself with her former employers.

It wasn't difficult to dress with haste. What was difficult was dressing with dignity. She had learned long ago the impact of first impressions, especially when people of importance were involved. Cyrille carefully bounded her chest with bandages before moving to choose a crisp black uniform threaded with gold lace and white buttons. It was simple, plain even, but not too drab that she betrayed her former position. An inbetween. She liked that. No one noticed the inbetweens, nor the sharp glimmer of steel they hid inside their sleeves. Hair was a much simpler task. Sheared at the neck, it took a only but a moment to tidy the ebony strands before Cyrille was ready.

A fair number of people were already gathered by the time the thief made it out to join them. Her steps were slow but purposeful. Dark eyes darted around, flickering over each face as observations churned behind a stoic mask. It was best to grow familiar with each and every one, just as a precaution. Not that it was difficult. Each seemed as unique as the next, with some holding more intrigue than others. She knew not of who she was to spar with, but that whoever it was, something interesting was bound to happen. And Cyrille was ready.

 

[rechonq]

The night was full of little distractions and interruptions, but that was normal for Eron. The dead never slept. He was used to this and either fell back asleep instantly or just slept through it altogether. The breaking light and bustling city was a little harder to sleep through. Eron was a determined man though. With a few shifts in his position, he was comfortable enough to sleep again. That was until a whistle came interrupting it. Eron hummed as the announcement that he could sleep another fifteen minutes was declared. He didn't like her choice of words though. There was nothing funny about rising from the grave. The announcement would have been nice if everyone else felt the same way. His determination was unerring though. The idle sounds of movement and chatter quickly became white noise to him. In fact, it wasn't until the noise stopped that he was disrupted. He rolled into his back, realizing he should probably get up now. He had to meet new people today, and later he would be seeing the princess again. There last meeting was pretty short, but he would never forget her.

He sat up from his bag and stretched. Yawning and eye rubbing were more of his morning activities. He noticed someone in his tent too. "Who are you?"

The man looked at him funny. "Are you talking to me? My name's Gerald."

'Shit', Eron thought as he realized he was talking to a ghost. How he didn't notice showed how much he hated mornings. "Nope." He simply replied as he stood up.

The ghost looked around for a second. "There's no one else here. Who were you talking to then?"

"I talk to myself sometimes in the morning. I can't see or hear you, Gerald." Eron was just being smart now. He already knew he'd been discovered now. He went and pulled on some loose pants and a loose shirt. It was to warm for his jacket, so that would be all he wore for now. He didn't have much to dress himself up nicely, but he would do his best later when it was time to meet the princess again.

"You responded to me... and you said my name. How can you see me?"

"I just can. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go for a morning meeting or training or sumthin-r-other." He picked up his lantern and kusarigama. Even though the lantern was probably going to be pretty useless, he never went anywhere without it.

"Oh don't worry. I'll just hover around you. I'm sure I won't distract anyone." Gerald didn't like how rude Eron had been. A human that could see him was pretty fascinating too.

Eron wandered out of his tent and looked up to see a sort of shocking view. Everyone was dressed up so nice. At least, that's how he felt. Some were in huge armors, other in tight suits and the commander certainly looked ready for more than Eron expected. Even Gerald looked better than him. Perhaps more than a loose outfit was in order for this morning. He made a mental not to definitely wear shoes that night. He was already out though, so hopefully first impressions could be changed. He walked up between the two dark hooded figures. The more decked out one had a weird aura to him. It bordered being unliked by Eron. He'd seen a lot of things by communing with the dead, but this guys magic was almost concerning. Even Gerald seemed to sweat a little if that was possible for the dead. Was Eron going to be working with this guy or were they about to kill him? He would have to see if the first option was feasible.

The other shorter hood didn't seem as terrifying. He saw the area she spat dissolve before his eyes, but that was just a point of interest to Eron. He began to gently rub the back of the shorter cloak. Everyone liked back rubs, right? Well he would find out now. He noticed it's shoulders weren't very wide and he got a feminine vibe just from the initial touch. Vibes had been wrong before though. It was rare, but embarrassing when they were.

"Wonderful!" He quickly snipped before Kanon commenced the morning training. It was certainly a good idea. They needed to get to know each other. He turned to the short cloak next to him. "Partner", he said questioningly. He was very interested in the other cloak as well, but more just to learn about him. "If it hasn't already been known, my name is Eron." He told the short cloak.

 

[Arachnos]

"Ragya," comes the curt reply. The voice is definitely feminine, on the lower and deeper vocal range, with a dry and acerbic tone. As she turns towards Eron, he should be able to see a hint of a female face beneath the still lowered hood. Though, something about it feels off, even through the shadows keeping it mostly hidden.

At the same time as he looks at her, she stares at him. Compared to the knight in armor, the towering lady-titan, the spooky sorcerer, the master spy and even the prim and proper butler person, this guy looks really unimpressive. Would it be an unsavory move on her part to pick on what seems like an easy target? No matter. With the way the day is shaping up to be, she could certainly use a convenient punching bag to start it off. She makes no secret of it, either.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, let's partner up. You look suitably squishy alright. This should be easy enough," she shrugs.

Even so, she wonders what his Gift may have in store. The Catalysts don't accept underwhelming fighters, that she knows. So whatever is special about him must make up for his underwhelming build in spades... She is somewhat interested to find out.

 

[Jehuti]

"What's going on? Some kind of historical re-enactment?" one bystander questions.

"Might be a public shaming. Some of them do look the criminal type, don't you think?" another muses.

"Ew, that one's a lecher!" a woman cries.

"Looks like it."

"The Commander's letting him touch her? Ugh! Gross! If I were her, I'd have his manhood chopped off."

"Good thing she is here, or this could get ugly fast."

"No kidding!"

The front row of bystanders continue, until they can hear the crowd behind them getting quieter. Suddenly, everyone's attention was centered on a petite, brown-haired girl in a shrine maiden's garb. She stood barefoot in the crowd, holding a wooden cane that was taller than her, accompanied by a taller and older masked man with short white hair. Was the miko his daughter? She was cute.

Then she opened her mouth.

"What's going on? Some kind of baseless gossip?" she questions, loud and with a tactlessly cheerful tone, as a schoolgirl engaging in idle gossip might.

"Might be a bad habit. Some of them do look a bit dull, don't you think?" the masked man muses.

"Hey, that one's a friend of the Princess!"

"Looks like it."

"And they're making fun of him? Ugh! Gross! If I were the Princess, I'd have their heads chopped off~♪"

"Good thing she's not here, or this could get ugly fast," the masked man agrees, playing along with her act.

"No kidding!" said Princess giggles, a dark smile on her lips as the crowd nervously walks away from her.

"E-Erm..." An anxious tour guide clears her throat. "I-I'm not sure what's going on here, but I'm sure it's not anything interesting! Everyone, if you'll please follow me, I'll show you around the city now!"

As the crowd flees the scene, Amelia sneaks Cipher a high-five.

"Do you want to go see them now?" Cipher asks the Princess.

"Hmm," she ponders, looking out toward the distant camp.

The crowd's gossip was outside the range that Kanon could understand what was being said, but she could hear it growing louder and louder behind her, and she became increasingly, painfully aware of the peanut gallery unfolding before her. She looks up from her stack of papers to see most of her new platoon standing at ease, doing whatever they like while the Empress no doubt turned in her sleep, disturbed by how these buffoons were embarrassing her country.

"Are you going to spar with your partners, or stare at them longingly while the flowers bloom around you?!" Kanon barks, her stern eyes peeking over the paper she held in her hand. "Cyrille, you pair up with..." She checks her papers for the name. Thankfully, it was easy for her to pronounce. "Atara. The rest of you, begin!"

Amelia listens to the distant barking with a wistful smile, as one might look while relaxing to the sounds of nature. "Mm, nope. Big Sis seems to be having fun. Once she starts fretting over me, everything becomes a no-fun zone. So, I'll wait."

"Alright, but the sun is coming up soon, Princess."

"Oh, no! I forgot my parasol!"

"Is that so? Do not fret. I'll find us a suitable tree. Until then, I will be your shield."

"Aw, thanks! You're so dependable~"

Kanon rubs her temple in frustration, squinting at the document she was holding. The artist's rendition of the subject was one of the worst she'd ever seen. It was as if they'd forgotten what this "Eerina" looked like many times over while drawing it, and gave up trying to salvage it. The final result was a mess. The person in the portrait was unidentifiable, but one thing was certain: the woman didn't show up. For that matter, had she shown up yesterday? No matter how hard she tried, Kanon couldn't recall one way or the other. It made her feel like she was going senile.

"Two people playing hooky. Unbelievable. Is this what Karma feels like?" Kanon's half-asleep mind drifts to the past for a moment, back to when she would skip training. That was before the incident with the angry drunk that nearly took her life. That was all it took for her to start taking her swordsmanship more seriously. For half of her platoon to be so lax—did they have any experience?

She'd forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.

"Right. I'm going to go look for this Eerina," Kanon declares, as she brushes right past the person in question.

 

[Arachnos]

"So it is spoken, so it shall be," Atara speaks in a voice that sounds grave, and ever-so-slightly off-putting. For some reason, every time Atara speaks, it always seems like some kind of irrevocable, inexorable sentence that will inevitably come to pass, no matter what he is actually saying. He stares at the man (?) the Commander seemed to have been referring to as "Cyrille", who may feel relieved when Atara's eyes close for just a moment, concealing the glow of the black magic raging within.

Unholy Rituals

This relief will be short-lived as a spine-chilling screech tears through the skies. A black shadow with leathery wings rips its way out of a cloud and swoops in Atara's direction as if to attack, but instead, the man dexterously grabs its head crests to climb atop the monstrosity's back. It's large even by wyvern standards, its black scales covered in mystical runes. But the appearance of the mount is overshadowed by the manner of its arrival. Atara hadn't called, hadn't whistled - this beast just came out of nowhere, as if it somehow knew it was needed.

Cyrille will not get to ponder an answer to this question. Already the mage has grabbed an ornate dragonbone tablet inscribed with illegible symbols and has begun an incantation...

-

Rotting Agony

"Looks like we're up as well," Ragya speaks. She lowers her hood, opens her robe, and reveals a vision of hell.

The woman's skin is entirely covered with myriads of gruesome-looking small holes, as if a thousand maggots had feasted on her. The sickly green pus leaking out of some of these holes is not helping the overall impression either. Beneath the robe, she's wearing very little aside from simple white bandages to cover the "sensitive" parts, leaving very little of her nausea-inducing body to the imagination. The bandages seem a bit frayed around the edges.

From inner pockets of her robe, she immediately retrieves a pair of combat daggers, a curvy kris in the offhand and a jagged carving nightmare in her main hand, the latter of which she proceeds to lick almost sensuously. The yellowing and worn appearance of the daggers, despite being clearly made of dragonbone, starts making a lot more sense once Eron realizes that the lick leaves the blade covered in the same green substance that leaks out of her pores, and that this substance is hissing and bubbling in a rather eerie fashion. Touching seems ill-advised, but given that Ragya immediately goes for a gut strike followed by a poke between the ribs with the kris, may well be unavoidable.

 

[Rosé Moon]

It was always amusing, and a part of Erin was sure that she would always find it so -- people responding to her pictures. The only thing that might've been more entertaining was watching an artist sketch her. First, they'd stare at her, take in all her features, as usual. Take note of her smooth, silk like raven hair that seemed more cared for then the rest of her, as light gleamed from it. The artist would notice her polar blue, ice cap eyes, and the sharp tip of her noes, that gave her a bit more character when paired with her slightly round cheeks. However, when he'd look back at his canvas, make a couple strokes with his pencil and then... she was gone. He forgot, not only what he was drawing, but that he had even been drawing someone. So, obviously, he'd look back up. Understandably confused and, oh, there she was. Right! Right, that's weird, lets try that again...

Every time it was the same, and while in her youth such things had frustrated her, they had become everyday occurrences though, and she'd learn to just find them amusing. No one could help it, and she knew it wasn't purposeful, So when she saw the commander looking at her papers, she knew what she was looking at. The young woman, the only one who seemed dressed for their occasion (both meeting the princess, and sparing), smirked. Her thin lips yanked upwards in one direction, but it was only for a brief instant before the commander began towards, off to look for Eerina. while about to pass Eerina. However, right as Eerina was about to introduce herself, the others started to move. A large wyvern, and the other girl who looked as though she'd been the motherhive of some new plague had wasted no time in beginning their 'sparring'. This only distracted her for a brief instant. In her line of work, ignoring a lot of action to sneak towards a more important goal was her forte, and she couldn't have the commander believing she'd been MIA.

"Commander Kanon." she began, her voice clear, sharp and caught somewhere between low and high. It did, however, carry the respect a solider should carry, "Eerina, Commander. Also known as 'The Raven'. It's a pleasure."

Despite her words seeming nothing but formal, there were no pleasantries hidden in her voice. Her body language was also... peculiar. Upon introducing herself, she'd side stepped right into what would be Kanon's center of vision, and if Kanon movied to look away, Eerina would slide to stay in the center. It was a habit, formed over years. Something about her gift that did frustrate her was when someone lost her in the middle of a conversation.Despite her best efforts, however... she could no keep her eyes off the action of the others. It was her nature to ignore, but observe. Although she knew this was supposed sparring, the two who had been first to move, based on Eerina's first impression, seemed a bit... unruly? She didn't question the team put together by her superiors, but those two were outside of the norm for her. Especially the one with the Wyvern, but the girl didn't seem much more moral.

'Reserve judgment, Erin. Just because they look like the witch and troll from Seasons of Harvest (a book she'd read in the past), doesn't mean they are as bad.'

It was only then that her eyes left the ones who had engaged, and scanned that which remained. The ones she might be sparring against, after the Commander temporarily discovered that she was, in fact, present. There was the... the monster. The woman who looked as though she uprooted trees for a pastime could only be described as that. Even more so, in Eerina's eyes the the walking plague-hive. Eerina weighed her options if she'd be pitted against her. She may have had the speed, but being hit by that thing would've been no fun at all, she'd imagine. Then there was the armored one. Armor was cumbersome, and his set in particular had more openings then most but... that had to be on purpose. Hm. Of course, there was also a third option, for Eerina. She could be the odd number, be forgotten, and not partake in sparring at all. To be completely transparent, she had no real interest in fighting the other Catalysts. Counter productive seemed to spring to mind. Then again, she wasn't overly privy to playing with others.​

 

[Majem]

"As well as the situation allowed. I hope you fared better." He replied with a chuckle. Just looking at her like this, standing at attention, given orders to spar, it brought back memories of his early training within Gebleicht. Back when he was still so very optimistic and looked forward to each new day with increased excitement. When all he worried about was becoming the best knight the King and Church had ever seen. Feeling the thrill of partolling the streets in pursuit of a dangerous individual and then having her join ranks and spar with her. Training even more intense than before in the hopes of one day being as strong as Eunike. The day he was assigned his first mission against invading monsters of the east and later his promotion to commander of his own small unit. All those wonderful memories came to mind when he looked at those blue eyes of her.

Still surprised and delighted to be assigned to the same platoon as this childhood acquaintance of his, Lance didn't realise he was neglecting an order, so lost in nostalgia he was, until the commander shouted at them again. At that sound, the knight sprang back to attention. Cyrille and Atara were to pair up, and the other two recruits besides himself and Eunike had paired up already, too. While he had hoped to spar with someone new, there didn't seem to be a choice left to be made, although said choice would contradict with the commander's order.
Just as Lance was about to notify Kanon of this Eerina spoke up, catching his attention as well. How had he missed her during briefing and where did she come from, he wondered for but a second. Her clothing told him some things. If he had to guess she'd be an assassin, given the lack of armour and the sneaking, and apparently a formidable one if even the commander couldn't see her joining everyone. A welcome surprise she was.

"Request permission to spar with Eerina, commander." He said, turning his head towards Kanon, but keeping his eyes on Eerina. He'd taken advantage of his eyes being hidden underneath a helmet to study her features a little more. "Our current headcount is an odd number and Eunike and I are well acquainted already," Only now did his gaze leave Eerina and consequentially she left his mind. "or I could train by myself." He continued, then felt confused as to why he said that. The group wasn't an odd number at all, there was just him and Eunike left and why would he train by himself when she was there to spar. Was he getting delusional from the heat already? The armour was hot around his head but not that much more than usual, was it? He wasn't sure anymore, but he wasn't about to remove his helmet for this. He'd just await an order and see how this heat stroke developed.

 

[Jehuti]

Kanon flinched at the screeching in the sky, and turned to look at the gathering of tourists. Thank the gods, they were all gone, somehow. Right as she thinks this, something steps into her field of vision. A shadow that she had dismissed as her tired eyes playing tricks on her, as it always seemed to linger in the corner of her peripheral vision, and disappear whenever she turned to look directly at it. Then, it speaks. After the briefest moment of paranoid confusion, it all becomes clear.

"Ah, Eerina. Yes. You were here yesterday." Kanon averts her gaze in embarrassment, to which the Raven responds by taking a step closer. Kanon fights the instinctual urge to take a step back from the approaching assassin. Like many others who possessed an oft-inconvenient Gift, she likely hadn't asked for this life, merely adapted to it. As an Ungifted, she was in no position to judge the Raven's "unique" stance on personal space.

Kanon feels a bit awkward, staring at Eerina while listening to Lance, but he seemed to be doing the same. It seems he'd caught on to her talents faster than she had. As their Commander, she'd have to be more vigilant. "I see. It's good to meet a familiar face, but your reasoning is sound. Permission granted."

It had occurred to her that seeing the Raven fight the Hawk might be interesting, but having the no-show spar with this Eunike character might prove to be even more "interesting." The woman was a monster. In a battle of pure strength, she could very well take anyone, and if the Gebleicht royal knights had only treated her as one of their own, given her proper instruction, then, by now, she could very well have...

Surpassed me? We'll see, Kanon darkly muses to herself.

"Eunike, you will spar with Aristaeus. It will be a valuable experience for both of you."

Indeed, it was true. A match with the Hawk would be the furthest thing from a straight fight.

 

[Rosé Moon]

Without further responding to Commander Kanon, Eerina slid from her view, and in turn, would fade from her memory. It seemed that Eerina's foe was the armored knight. His armor, upon first glance, seemed... vulnerable. It made sense. Equipping a full suit must've been time-consuming. Also, now that she thought of it, it was probably impossible if attempted by one's self. Hm. Now that Eerina was gone from Kanon's sight, she found herself gracefully -- silently -- coming before her would-be sparring partner. She stood before the knight, and her eyes spoke what she was doing; analyzing. It was her nature. The empty patches of his armor, the blade at his hip and the lance in his hand. She also noted the shield. A shield, she'd been taught, could be more dangerous then a blade in the right hands. A blade with predictable. No one expects the concussion that comes with a head-full of shield in powerful hands.

The Raven guessed, that she shouldn't underestimate the knight. Fight fast, take advantage of his weight and try and stay behind him. No. Wait... before that...

"My name is Eerina. It would be favorable to me to say, 'my teammates call me 'Erin'', so please, call me Erin."

Her words were strange. Not in of themselves, but the tone in which she spoke. It wasn't impolite, more to the point that it seemed she didn't know the casual nuances in which to speak to teammates. It sounded like she was giving a command, that was meant to sound falsely friendly. Then her ice colored eyes widened a bit. What had his name been? Had he introduced himself when he left his tent? She'd been so amused watching the Commander look at her artist's rendition she hadn't paid attention! So, the awkward tone of voice returning, she asked;

"And... you're name was...?"

Despite her strangely stated question, she assumed a combative position. Her left leg went behind her, both legs bent at the knees, and her stand became lowered, and powerful. The stance exposed two blades that hung at her hip. One was thin, and long, and sharp. Evident from it's appearance even from a distance. It was her Stiletto, and despite the man's armor, she was planning on using the second blade. The much more traditional, shorter blade in front of her Stiletto. A silver knife with no name, but seemed to be crafted with great care. He'd soon discover it was meant for throwing, but that would come soon.

It would be out of character for her to lead in this dance. Only to follow his lead.​

 

[Majem]

Permission granted? Was she talking to him? Lance needed a moment to remember what just happened. He had been talking to Kanon, but she wasn't looking at him as if she was talking to someone else, yet her words seemed directed at him. It felt like something was missing, but he had no idea what it could be apart from a vague shadow in the back of his mind. Nevertheless, Eunike had gained a sparring partner and just then Eerina stepped into Lance's view. He was taken aback by this new face suddenly appearing, but there was something more. She seemed vaguely familiar, like a dream he hadn't had in a long time, yet was still there somewhere in the back of his mind.

She was staring at him, but he was returning the favour, looking over her again to get an idea of her fighting style. An assassin, master of the shadows. If she could disappear from view whenever she wanted he'd have to focus on speed over precision, striking as fast as he sees movement and keep at it. All the while he'd have to keep his exposed parts behind his shield, perhaps lure her to attack there, then disable her with a shield strike; no, she'd probably see such a simple strategy coming.
"Eerina or Erin, huh? Well, if you prefer Erin then it'll be Erin." He responded to her introduction. Strange as it may have been, it seemed to go over Lance's head, being used to a military life a lot of his day-to-day conversations had been somewhat direct and straight to the point, not at all like her followup question.

Her stance was certainly intimidating. Compact but powerful, she could probably leap at him and strike him down then and there with either of her weapons. She didn't reveal which of the two she'd use either, leaving Lance guessing at what to do to defend himself, but before all that he'd have to get ready, too.
"The name's Lance." He said, then whistled twice. The first short while the second was higher pitched and drawn out. The loud, piercing sound was followed by the clopping of hooves, but Lance continued. "I'm a Lancer." As the horse reached its rider, it slowed but didn't come to a stop. Despite his armour, he followed alongside his horse for a few steps before mounting it with a single bound, then shuffling a little to position himself better and grab the reins. The knight was now ready for battle.

The mounting maneuver was distracting enough for Lance to forget about Eerina again. All he remembered was that he was sparring with a master of shadows, so he should probably watch his back. "Let's have at it, then." He called out.